


run it, run it (like a girl)

by ghosthunter



Category: Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/F, Minnesota Nice, fake rivalries, maligning of the canadian maritimes, the nhl is women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: Hockey analysts will make a rivalry out of anything. And if it’s not the analysts, then it’s the media. All they really had in common was they went to the same school and play the same sport.





	run it, run it (like a girl)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueorangecrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueorangecrush/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [blueorangecrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueorangecrush/pseuds/blueorangecrush) in the [PuckingRare2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
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> 
> AU where women's hockey is the more popular sport and they are the superstars that everyone knows.
> 
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> 
> thanks to jarka for the beta, and everyone who had to listen to me working out this idea and who gave me suggestions when i asked what players should be on what teams. (erika lawler is captain of the calgary flames, suck my dick.)
> 
> god i hope you enjoy this.

Hockey analysts will make a rivalry out of anything. And if it’s not the analysts, then it’s the media. All they really had in common was they went to the same school and play the same sport.

They don’t even play the same position, so there’s no real comparing them. They’ve never even been in the same division, and sure, they play in the same conference, but there’s no real rivalry between the Leafs and the Penguins. There wasn’t even a real rivalry between the Bruins and the Penguins. It should have ended there. Hell, it never should have started.

It’s not really Amanda’s fault if she gets just a little bit shitty when they ask her over and over again how she feels about the Penguins’ star goaltender.

And the thing is, Taylor’s younger than Amanda, and sure, they went to the same school but Amanda was a couple of years ahead, and they didn’t really know each other. They played on the same team, but it wasn’t like they were close friends. How do you feel about Taylor having a Stanley Cup when you don’t? How do you feel about her team winning so much when yours doesn’t?

Amanda could scream.

She’s not allowed to say “I don’t think about it,” or “I don’t care,” even though that’s the truth and she just gives canned responses, tells them she thinks it’s great that Taylor’s doing so well, that she can’t imagine the work that Taylor’s putting in, being a goalie and backstopping her team to a Stanley Cup.

And the Leafs suck.

It is what it is, and it doesn’t matter how many goals Amanda scores or how many assists she has or how many All Star Games they send her to- the Leafs still fucking suck. So she has to go to the All Star Game, answer questions about another team that’s doing better than hers, a player that’s doing more winning than she is, and she has to make it look good. She has to make the Leafs look good.

That’s why the first thing that comes out of her mouth when she finally gets to the bar after media is “I need a drink.” 

Fortunately, she’s not mic’ed up anymore and the only people sitting at the bar are Hilary Knight and Haley Skarupa, and they just laugh at her. Haley moves over and leaves a barstool between them and Hilary waves a bartender over to them.

“They ask you about your best friend again?” Hilary asks, crossing her legs. Amanda would love to tell herself she doesn’t watch, but she’s had a crush on Hilary for a hundred years, even if nothing would ever come from it. Hilary’s straight and it’s boring, even if Hilary would let Amanda flirt with her all night.

“You’d think they’d get tired of it, but no,” Amanda asks, and looks at Hilary’s drink, then Haley’s. “What are you drinking?”

“Bourbon,” Hilary says at the same time Haley says, “beer,” and this time it’s Amanda who laughs.

“Is there ever a time when you’re not just the hardest bitch in the place?” Amanda asks, once she’s ordered her drink. Hilary grins and taps her on the nose.

“You love me,” Hilary says.

“Is this fraternizing with the enemy? Do the Leafs scratch you for that?” Haley asks. The bartender brings them another round of drinks along with Amanda’s.

“Not technically,” Amanda says. “And you’re not in the same division, so fuck it. USA Hockey is do or die?”

“Fucking rights,” Hilary says, raising her glass in a mock cheer. Amanda and Haley clink theirs against hers.

“Fucking rights,” they echo, then start laughing.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Haley says, and tilts her head to where other players are starting to filter in through the door.

“I know for a fact there’s no way Fitzy got out of media that fa - “ Amanda cuts off when she abruptly realizes what Haley means. “Oh, fuck.”

They both laugh at her, then suddenly become very interested in their drinks so they don’t have to actually talk when Taylor Crosby makes a beeline for them where they’re sitting at the bar. Amanda even tries to give Hilary her best ‘help me’ face, but Hilary just shrugs and closes her lips around her straw. Amanda files the image away for her spank bank later, while simultaneously filing away the slight to check the shit out of Hilary in a future game.

She’ll regret it when Hilary flattens her, but it’ll feel good.

“Can we talk?” Taylor asks, and she tilts her head just so, like she’s willing to get really stubborn about it if Amanda says no.

And if Amanda says no, then she’s the bitch for not wanting to talk, even though she doesn’t feel like there’s anything to say between them. What do they have in common besides hockey and this narrative the media has manufactured for them? Taylor’s a goalie, Amanda’s a forward. Taylor’s team wins, Amanda’s doesn’t. 

“Sure,” is what she actually says. Minnesota nice, she tells herself. She wasn’t born in Minnesota, but she spent a lot of time there. It’s like being Canadian, only fucking _not_. She grabs her drink and slips off the barstool.

“I just wanted to, you know, clear the air,” Taylor is saying, before they’ve walked out of earshot of Hilary and Haley. They’re walking towards a table in the bar, farther away from where most of the players have gathered. “Because I think all this rivalry stuff is stupid. I mean, all we did was go to the same school for a few years. I don’t see why it has to be a thing.”

“Hockey men love their storyline,” Amanda says.

“Well, I won’t play into it if you won’t,” Taylor says. Out of gear, made up for media, she’s more attractive than Amanda remembers a teenaged Taylor being. Amanda would probably say the same thing about herself, too.

“I try not to,” Amanda says. “Toronto media is… not like other places.”

This makes Taylor laugh. It’s an ugly bark of a thing, and she tips her head back. “Can I tell you,” she says, leaning in, conspiratorial. “I’m so glad I didn’t get drafted to Toronto. I mean, I know you didn’t either, but everyone talks about how the media treats players there. You’re never quite good enough.”

“Well, the team is rebuilding,” Amanda says, immediately clicking over into her canned response, because it feels a little bit like Taylor Crosby is going to run and tattle on her if she says anything else. Because Taylor Crosby is Pittsburgh’s perfect darling, their star goalie, and Amanda’s been traded from Boston to Toronto and it was supposed to be the start of something good, but it’s not.

For her part, Taylor seems to realize she’s struck a nerve, bringing up Toronto. “Anyway,” she says. “I just wanted to let you know I don’t think you like, hate me or resent me or anything like that. Whatever they’re saying this week.”

“No,” Amanda says. “I don’t.” She doesn’t say ‘I don’t think about you at all,’ which is closer to the truth than anything else. If no one asked Amanda Kessel about Taylor Crosby, Amanda Kessel would never think about Taylor Crosby. Well, except for when Crosby was in net against her, and even then, goalies are nameless, faceless impediments to getting a puck into the net.

“Maybe we can get to know each other better this weekend?” Taylor says to her. Actually says this thing, so cliche. It almost sounds like a come on, because it’s such a weird ass thing to say, and Amanda thinks sure, why not, Canadians from the Maritimes are weird as fuck.

“Sure,” she says, and sips her drink, wishing she were cool and a hard ass and six feet tall like Hilary, or some effortless girl-next-door that everyone falls all over themselves for like Haley. Taylor smiles at her and for a brief second, Amanda wants to wreck her.

She has no idea where that thought even comes from, but she thinks it, and then all of a sudden she can see that actually, Taylor’s not that bad to look at. And Amanda’s definitely hooked up with girls who didn’t even look this good, even if Taylor’s all done up for ASG media day. Amanda definitely needs to get up and walk away from this.

“Do you want a drink?” she asks, instead. “I was just having a couple with Hilary and Haley, and then we were probably gonna get dinner with some of the other players from the National team - oh, but the Canadians are probably doing their own thing?”

“Will they give you shit if you bring a Canadian along?” Taylor asks.

“We can find out,” Amanda says.

 

 

 

 

Absolutely nothing happens.

In spite of the weird maybe-come on and all the shit Amanda gets (of course) for bringing an enemy to the party, Amanda can’t quite tell if Taylor is interested or just Nice. She’s not really any different to any of the other girls than she was to Amanda, and she’s just like anyone else when faced down with Hilary Knight, Amazon Princess.

Amanda remembers the first time Hilary became a real person to her, and not just a superstar who never seemed like someone Amanda could ever have a conversation with, much less become friends with. And then they played together.

Everyone at the Olympics fucks. Like, a lot. It’s not even a secret. And Amanda’s half in love with Hilary from just being around her. They’re sitting at dinner one night, and Hilary’s talking, and all Amanda can think about is Hilary’s mouth.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Amanda asks her, when they’re alone. Hilary laughs.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh no.”

“No?” Amanda asks, and she can feel her face hot. She’s really misread this whole situation.

“I have a boyfriend, you know,” Hilary tells her. She smiles, a little sad. “But if I liked girls, I’d definitely let you kiss me.”

“Not even a little bit?” Amanda asks.

“Not even a little bit,” Hilary says. “Believe me, I tested it.”

“What kind of hockey player,” Amanda starts, but dissolves into laughter at the look on Hilary’s face. “Half of us are sleeping with or have slept with each other.”

“I know,” Hilary says. “It’s really very boring for me.”

Amanda ends up hooking up with one of the girls from the Swedish team, and it’s fine. Well, it’s better than fine, and Amanda comes so hard she sees stars. The next day she feels loose, scores a goal, and decides that Swedish girls are fine.

Everything with Hilary is also totally normal, so she counts that as a win, too.

Hilary remains the one time that Amanda has read things wrong. Unless… unless she’s reading Taylor wrong, but Taylor was the one flirting with her, so Amanda doesn’t think she is. Maybe she changed her mind once she got out and saw Amanda in her natural habitat being a frat bro with Hilary and Haley.

Taylor doesn’t seem like much of a frat bro, after all.

Once the night is over, Amanda doesn’t think about it anymore. She spends the next night out with Lawler and Fitzy, and then when it’s over she goes back to Toronto, and that’s that.

For a while, anyway.

 

 

 

 

Amanda expected to be working out in the offseason, getting stronger and faster and ready to go back to Toronto and help them win a cup.

Instead she’s sitting on her bedroom floor, sorting through the clothes she’s going to donate. Blue sheath dresses, work wear, fancier things for fancier events, dress shirts in Maple Leaf blue that go under her game day suits. Everything blue is going to go. Everything blue, she’s getting rid of.

She’ll donate the stuff that someone could wear to work, the sheath dresses, the dress shirts. Some of the suits that are blue that she knows she’ll never wear again because they’ll remind her of Toronto. The dresses though - what are they practical for? Girls going to prom?

She auctions the fancy ones off on the internet and donates the money. Toronto might as well get something out of it. Let them say oh, well, Amanda Kessel was a bad hockey player, she was destroying the team, she was a real bitch - and they love to call her a bitch - but she’s going to give every last thing she can to this city before she slams the door behind her.

Her phone buzzes constantly with messages in the wake of the trade announcement. She remembers that from when she left Boston. It’s not any different this time. Some of them come from numbers she doesn’t recognize, and those she knows must be Penguins. More of them are from numbers she does recognize.

One of them is Hilary.

 _sorry i have to destroy you now_ is all it says. That, at least, makes Amanda smile, even though she’s still pissed off at being traded.

Nurse is the captain in Pittsburgh, and she’s the one who picks Amanda up at the airport on the first day when she arrives. She’ll have a bunch of stuff delivered to her new place, but for now, it’s just her and a suitcase and a bag of gear. It’s nice of Nurse to offer to pick her up, though. She’s not sure any of the players in Toronto would’ve done it.

Nobody in Toronto likes anyone much right now.

“You can call me Sarah,” Nurse says, once they’re in the car, Amanda’s bag and gear jammed into the back of the car. “Or Nursey. Or fuck, whatever, I don’t know, man.” And Nurse is Canadian, sure, and Amanda’s played against her a thousand times over in international tournaments and in regular season games, but she’s got a big bright smile and a snapback pulled down over her hair.

“This is weird,” Amanda says.

“Being traded is weird,” Nurse tells her, navigating easily onto the highway from the airport. “Settling into a new place is weird.”

“You haven’t though,” Amanda says. “Have you?”

“No,” Nurse says, and Amanda watches her cut her eyes toward where Amanda is sitting.

“You’re still right,” Amanda says with a sigh. “So what did they tell you about me? The same stuff everyone in Toronto says?”

“Oh,” Nurse says. “Which part? The part about your hockey or what they say about you in the room? Because you kind of have the opportunity to be someone totally new here, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Amanda says. “But you still hate me for kicking your ass at international tournaments.”

Nurse laughs at that. “Not every time. Canada wins most of the time.”

“Fuck off, you don’t,” Amanda says, and Nurse laughs harder.

“Hey,” Nurse says, once she finally calms down. “The thing with you and Crosby. Like that’s all just bullshit, right? Because I’m not having any of this rivalry shit in my locker room.”

Amanda knows that Sarah Nurse is several years younger than her. But still, Sarah’s the captain. It’s her locker room. Amanda also feels like Sarah should know from Taylor that none of this manufactured bullshit is real.

“Yeah, no, that’s just what the media wants people to think about us,” Amanda says. “We went to the same school, that’s all. We don’t even play the same position.”

“I figured. Taylor never says anything about it, and she’s really good at avoiding questions about it,” Nurse says. “Just figured that I’d ask.”

 

 

 

 

Falling into a routine in Pittsburgh is a lot easier than it ever felt like in Toronto. For one thing, Pittsburgh has won a Cup recently, so the fans and the media don’t hate them as deeply. Amanda slots into place so easily with Nurse and Spooner it was like she was drafted to be there, meant to play there.

It feels good, playing hockey in Pittsburgh. It’s easy.

It’s only a little awkward, being around Taylor constantly. A lot of the narratives coming into the season are about how they’ve been rivals and now they play on the same team. No one listens when either of them speak up to say there’s never been a real rivalry. Maybe if Amanda had ever played goalie, maybe if Taylor had ever been a skater.

Coming up on the home opener, Hilary sends Amanda a dozen texts of a red dress with a slit up the side to the hip. It’s basically a sext, if Hilary had any interest in girls. Amanda drops her phone immediately upon seeing it and it skitters across the floor. Amanda doesn’t even have a chance to move and pick it up before someone else has it in hand.

“Nice dress,” Taylor says, waddling up to Amanda with the phone in her hand, outstretched. “Don’t think it’s really the right color for you, though.”

“Oh,” Amanda says, blushing slightly. “It’s Hilary’s dress for their red carpet event. I wouldn’t wear red.”

“What are you planning on wearing?” Taylor asks, working herself out of her equipment.

“I don’t know,” Amanda says. “Something black, I imagine.”

Taylor laughs at that, flipping her sweaty ponytail back behind her shoulders. “Everyone wears black here,” she says. “Except Nursey. She’s the only one of us who really looks good in yellow.”

“You’re not going to call it gold?” Amanda asks, smirking at Taylor.

“Would you call that gold?” Taylor asks.

“Absolutely not,” Amanda says. “So you’re wearing black?”

“Black. Simple. I’m not one to really… get quite done up,” Taylor says.

“I think you’d look gorgeous made up,” Amanda says. “Really going all out. Surprise someone.”

“Maybe,” Taylor says. She’s stripped to her bra and shorts, and she flashes a smile at Amanda as she heads for the showers.

 

 

 

 

Amanda finds a dress the day before their red carpet event. It’s not black, after all, but soft champagne gold. She gets her hair done, leaves it waved loose around her shoulders. It’s not a look she’d normally go for - in Toronto, she’d put her hair up, try to look cute and girl-next-door so maybe they’d like her more than they did in the end, and in Boston she wore black and tried to look tougher than she was.

Tonight, she’s some kind of ethereal goddess that she never expected to be. She catches sight of herself in the mirror on the way out of her apartment, and she almost doesn’t recognize herself. Amanda in Pittsburgh is not Amanda from Toronto, or Amanda from Boston. She can be a new Amanda. The one that’s closer to being the real thing.

Red carpet events are easy, because everyone’s excited to be there, excited for a new season, excited for new players and returning ones. Even excited for Amanda. She signs jerseys and takes pictures and she smiles and it feels real.

She catches sight of Taylor farther down the carpet, dressed in black just like she said. It’s simple, her hair done up neat, her makeup simple. Amanda sees the look of surprise on Taylor’s face when Taylor notices Amanda, though. Amanda smiles at that, too.

Taylor catches her in the hallway outside the locker room, her hand hot on Amanda’s waist through the fabric of Amanda’s dress. “I thought you were wearing black?” Taylor says.

“Changed my mind,” Amanda says, and smirks.

“It looks good,” Taylor says. Amanda watches her bite her lip, like she’s about to say something else, and then doesn’t.

“Do you want to come back to mine,” Amanda says, “after the game. For a drink.”

“If we win,” Taylor says.

 

 

 

 

They win.

Amanda’s black and gold makeup is melted around her eyes and she’s exhilarated. It’s only the first game of the season, but it’s a win, and a win feels better than anything. Toronto didn’t do much winning while she was there.

The atmosphere in the room is better than Toronto’s ever was. It’s better than Boston’s ever was. Amanda feels a rush of affection for Pittsburgh, for these new teammates, for the tape ball Nurse throws at her, for their coach, for Taylor’s breathless smile.

For the way Taylor watches her.

She scrubs the remains of the makeup off her face, scrubs the sweat from her body and rinses out her hair. The dress goes back on easy, a different vibe with her makeup gone and her hair hanging loose and wet around her shoulders.

“Do you need my address?” Amanda asks, as she passes Taylor on her way toward the door. “I’ve already got a bottle of wine at home, and it’s calling my name.”

“Text me just in case,” Taylor says. Amanda isn’t sure if the redness on her cheeks is from the heat of the showers or from a blush. Amanda hopes she makes Taylor blush.

She texts Taylor the address of her apartment as she walks to her car, the night still almost summer-warm on her skin.

 

 

 

Amanda’s already poured herself a glass of wine by the time she hears a knock at her apartment door. She hasn’t changed yet, because she knows what she looks like in the dress. She’s hoping she can convince Taylor that she should be the one to take it off.

Taylor’s on the other side of the door, still wearing her own dress, her hair pulled up into a tight bun on top of her head, her face clean. Amanda can see Crocs peeping out from under the hem of the dress, bright yellow, and she smiles and offers Taylor a glass.

“We can order food, if you want,” Amanda says.

“I could eat,” Taylor says.

They order food and kill the bottle of wine, sitting barefoot in their dresses at the breakfast bar in Amanda’s kitchen. It’s nice to sit and talk with someone and kill a pizza and not have the stress of anything weighing her down. The new opportunity really does feel good. Having Taylor there, a little tipsy and her fingers covered in grease from the pizza feels good.

“Do you want to come to bed with me?” Amanda finally asks, once both the pizza and the bottle of wine are gone. She watches as Taylor turns suddenly shy, ducks her head and Amanda can see her blushing. “Unless I’m wrong about all this.”

“No,” Taylor says.

“Did you chicken out? At the All Star Game?” Amanda asks. She bumps her bare feet against Taylor’s legs, the skin smooth under her toes. She got a pedicure for this, champagne gold polish to match her dress.

“Yes,” Taylor says, still not looking at Amanda. Her cheeks are so pink.

“I didn’t think it was some weird Maritimes thing,” Amanda says. “I mean, I thought about it, but I was like, surely that was just regular flirting and not something else.”

“I’d never like, casual teammate hooked up,” Taylor says.

“And you have now?” Amanda asks.

“No,” Taylor says. “I’m not really like. A casual relationship type of person?”

“You wanna like,” Amanda says.

“Date you?” Taylor says, her voice quiet.

“We could try it,” Amanda says. “I wouldn’t be opposed.” She’s quiet for a moment, turning her empty glass in her hand. “Does this count as our first date?”

“Will you judge me if I put out on the first date?” Taylor asks.

Amanda laughs. “I was going to put out without dating you, so no,” she says. She reaches out and pushes a curl that’s come loose from Taylor’s bun behind her ear. “Come on. I left this dress on because I wanted you to take it off.”

They leave the lights off and turn the lamp next to the bed on. The zipper on the back of Amanda’s dress is short, and Taylor’s hands move slow down Amanda’s skin as she slides the straps off Amanda’s shoulders and down her arms. 

The skirt hangs off her hips, and Taylor stops, looking at her, and laughs.

“You don’t like my accessories?” Amanda asks. She’s got bandaids stuck over her nipples.

“Just - why?” Taylor asks.

“So the dress didn’t chafe my nipples,” Amanda says. “I tried it without, but every time I moved my arms, it rubbed.”

“Isn’t ripping the bandaids off gonna hurt?” Taylor asks.

“A lot less brief than having my nipples chafed raw,” Amanda tells her. She reaches up, tips Taylor’s face up until they’re eye to eye. “Besides, you can kiss it better. I don’t think you could fix chafing.”

Taylor laughs, and Amanda kisses her.

Taylor startles at first, but then leans into it, her hands coming to rest on Amanda’s waist, creeping up until her thumbs brush across the curve of Amanda’s breasts. Amanda slides her own arms around Taylor as they kiss, searching blindly for the zip at the back, high up between Amanda’s shoulder blades.

She tugs the zipper down, following it with her fingertips along Taylor’s bare skin. Once she reaches the bottom, she tugs the fabric apart, slides the dress down Taylor’s shoulders and off, leaving Taylor standing there in her bra and underwear.

The bra is black and lacy and Amanda can see Taylor’s nipples right through it when she pulls away from kissing her. She runs a thumb across over the fabric.

“A lot sexier than the dress,” Amanda says. “I like that the panties match. And they’re cuter than mine.”

Taylor laughs at that, and pushes Amanda’s dress off her hips then, and they’re both there, in nothing but their underwear. It’s Taylor that leans in and kisses Amanda again. Amanda pulls her in, presses their bodies together, her hands sliding down to grip Taylor’s ass to pull her closer.

“Pull the bandaids off,” Amanda says. Taylor laughs at her.

“Are you sure?” Taylor says. Amanda nods.

“Can’t hurt worse than blocking a shot,” Amanda tells her, and Taylor reaches up, tracing the outline of the sticker, before tugging it off. Amanda breathes in sharp through her nose, but Taylor leans down and presses her lips to the offended spot.

Amanda stops breathing for a split second. The catch in her breath and the sharp inhale makes Taylor raise her head up.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she asks, looking up at Amanda through her eyelashes. Amanda wants to cut the shit and push her down on the bed, get one thick thigh between her own. 

“Yeah,” Amanda says, and Taylor’s tongue moves back to swirl around Amanda’s nipple once more. She’s still rolling her tongue around it when she reaches up with one hand and rips the bandaid off the other nipple. Amanda grabs a handful of Taylor’s ass and jerks her close. It makes Taylor giggle.

Amanda pushes Taylor down onto the bed, tugs her panties down her hips. “You’ve had people go down on you before, right?” Amanda asks. She assumes Taylor isn’t a virgin.

“Yeah,” Taylor says, sitting up just enough to unhook her bra and pull it off, tossing it off the side of the bed.

“By a girl?” Amanda asks, watching Taylor. She’s blushing, and she squirms a little, bringing her knees together.

“Yeah,” she finally says, letting herself fall back on the mattress.

“Not to brag,” Amanda says, pressing her mouth to the inside of Taylor’s knee and nudging her legs apart. “But this is gonna be the best you’ve ever had.”

 

 

 

 

The thing is, the rivalry thing doesn’t stop.

It doesn’t ramp up, now that they’re on the same team. The questions just change. Now, they ask what it’s like to be on the same team with such a rivalry. They ask how it changes things, if they’re more rivals now that they’re on the same team, or less.

“Why would there be a rivalry between us?” Taylor finally asks one night after a game. They’ve lost, and they’re still asking about the rivalry, like somehow Taylor and Amanda not getting along has something to do with the fact that they played like shit and Taylor allowed a couple of stupid goals. Not that she was getting a lot of help from the defense, but still. “We’re on the same team.”

“We’re friends now, you know,” Amanda says, after a different game. “It’s silly to think that there’d be any kind of rivalry when we play on the same team.”

The thing that finally stops it is when the Penguins win the Cup.

Nurse takes the Cup first, passes it down. It passes into Taylor’s hands after, and it’s Taylor who brings it to Amanda. She’s still got it held over her head, and Amanda reaches up to take it.

Taylor leans in and kisses her.

Both of their hands are on the Cup, held above their heads.

It makes for a great photo. It’s an internet sensation.

Everyone stops asking about the stupid rivalry.

**Author's Note:**

> on twitter @notedgoon.


End file.
